May 7, 2007

Sticks and Stones and Healthy Bones



Here are a few of my favorite online haunts:
[This is the site I visit to fantasize about living in Toronto again, which is almost every single day during the winter]

Jonathan Cainer's Zodiac Forecasts
[This is where I visit in the morning, when I need a positive spin on things past, present and future.]

Living Local
[This is where I go to see what Canadians are up to, sometimes I even buy things from the businesses listed there.]

Environment Canada Weather
[This is the site I visit every morning, and before every road trip during the winter]

This is an afternoon entry.

The most exciting part of my day so far has been the careful extraction, using tweezers, of the sliver in my overalls. I don’t know how it got there, exactly. It must have worked its way into my trousers at some point during my walk. Well, it probably happened when I was sitting in the bush, in the sun, on the dirt, in the sticks and stones, covered with crawlies like ants and black flies, enjoying a little weep. There is nothing so cleansing as a good cry in the wilderness.

The leaves are popping out all over my world. The ridges and hills in the bush can still be seen, but their outline is becoming fuzzier each day. The small ponds of water at the sides of the road are drying up, and I have to wonder what happened to the little frog that startled me two days ago as I walked by the ditch at the side of the road. His pond has shrunk to the size of dishpan. There are violets blooming all along the verge of the road, small and delicate, they would be totally invisible to anyone walking by at a brisk pace. How wonderful it is that I have the time to stop and stare.

My love for walking came from my grandmother and my aunt. They would gather my brother, my sister and myself about them, then set out into the bush or along the bed of the abandoned railway.

There were terrifying moments, such as when we passed over railway ties, one by one, twenty feet above a "creek". My aunt held my sister’s hand; she was less than two years old. My brother and I, a few years older, had to walk the ties on our own. We were frightened as soon as we looked down. My aunt would not hear our protests, and urged us on. Neither of us plunged to the water below, although it could have happened it did not. Ever since that experience I have been able to push myself beyond fear.

Without exception, our walks were a source of joy. Both my grandmother and my aunt were school teachers, who imparted information constantly as we moved along the trail, all as one. There was a companionship to those walks that I have seldom experienced since my childhood.

Now, when I walk in the bush I do not walk alone. I have my ghosts.

Top of Page

Worldly Distractions

Bush in May
Ghost Walk

“He was never married; he told the writer, “When I am drunk no one will have me, and when I am sober I won’t have them.”
Joe McEwen, quoted in MacLennan, Pearl, (Curator for Dunchurch Women’s Institute Branch), January 3rd, 1974, Along Memory Lane With Hagerman People: 1868 - 1972, Corrections of errors and omissions by Edith Macfie, Olympic Printing: Sprucedale, Ontario, 1982 Second Printing, Volume One.

Pressure 102.4 kPa
Visibility 15 km
Humidity 24 %
Dewpoint 0°C
Wind SSE 22 km/h

Blog Version

Page by Page: A Woman's Journal
by Maggie Turner

Canadian Maggie Turner writes and publishes poetry, photography, and a personal journal online. Her work reflects the current way of life in Canada, embracing Canada's past, present, and future in a unique portrayal of everyday life. Maggie's voice is one of the many that actively depict the rich diversity of Canadian culture.

Photography: "a term which comes from the Greek words photos (light) and graphos (drawing). A photograph is made with a camera by exposing film to light in order to create a negative. The negative is then used in the darkroom to print a photograph (positive) onto light-sensitive paper.
Source: University of Arizona Glossary

Poetry: "a form of speech or writing that harmonizes the music of its language with its subject. To read a great poem is to bring out the perfect marriage of its sound and thought in a silent or voiced performance. At least from the time of Aristotle's Poetics, drama was conceived of as a species of poetry."
Source: Creative Studios

Journal: " "Though a journal may be many things - a treasury, a storehouse, a jewelry box, a laboratory, a drafting board, a collector's cabinet, a snapshot album, a history, a travelogue..., a letter to oneself - it has some definable characteristics. It is a record, an entry-book, kept regularly, though not necessarily daily.... Some (entries) will be nearly illegible, written in the dark in the middle of the night.... Not only is it a record for oneself, but of oneself. Every memorable journal, any successful journal, is honest. Nothing sham, phony, false...." (Dorothy Lambert from Ken Macrorie's book, Writing to be Read )
A journal is a way to keep track of your thoughts about what you read... as well as what you did on any given day."
Source: Journal Writing

A Blog is an online journal created by server side software, often hosted by a commercial interest.

"The term "weblog" was coined by Jorn Barger[4] on 17 December 1997. The short form, "blog," was coined by Peter Merholz, who jokingly broke the word weblog into the phrase we blog in the sidebar of his blog in April or May 1999.[5][6][7] Shortly thereafter, Evan Williams at Pyra Labs used "blog" as both a noun and verb ("to blog," meaning "to edit one's weblog or to post to one's weblog") and devised the term "blogger" in connection with Pyra Labs' Blogger product, leading to the popularization of the terms."

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